


In Noctem

by NemesisNecrosis



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Gen, Original Character Death(s), Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 07:20:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3720076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NemesisNecrosis/pseuds/NemesisNecrosis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elliot has a unique skill; while all sun flames have the capability to heal, Elliot's flames are different - healing is all they do, but they do it well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Noctem

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea if there will be more to this. This is the only scene I have written out so far, but I'll probably come back to it eventually and add more to the first chapter.

_The blood. The blood was everywhere._

 

_Splattered across nineteen-forties war posters, the quaint slogans obscured by the oxygenated fluid, turned almost black in the low light. Smeared along a mahogany dresser, circa 1890's, clothes tumbling out of the drawers, stained and ripped. There were deep grooves dug into the wood of the dresser, where a bladed tool had cleaved into the antique, perhaps just barely missing its intended target. The upholstery on a cloth recliner was ripped, the flowery material slashed until it was hanging off the wood frame like skin off an old man. Miscellaneous objects littered the floor, cards strewn around, clown dolls, raggedy-anne's and teddy bears, toy trains, hot rods and Hello Kitty merchandise made obstacles which blocked one's way across the cluttered storage room._

 

 _And the_ screaming _._

 

 _Elliott scrambled in the dark towards that ear-splitting yell, the hoarse, sobbing sounds leading him towards the victim. They weren't making any effort to silence her cries, so he knew this was an exercise. An_ experiment _. Not that this meant it wasn't real. The girl getting tortured at the other end of the large room was real, the men who were cutting and pulling her apart were real, and so were the injuries she was gaining. This knowledge did not help him any. He knew she would die if he didn't get there in time, and if she did, it would be entirely his fault._

 

_It took him five minutes to find her. Five minutes of ear-splitting scream after blood-chilling moan after heart-stopping sob, until finally, the sounds had dwindled away to nothing. That was the worst, that silence. She was hidden among the several-meters tall piles of old machines and furniture that were littered around the warehouse. He found her, alone, next to an old pink sofa and a refrigerator from the sixties, littered with ripped boxing gloves and mismatched pairs of knitted mittens, a pair of cracked highchairs perched precariously over the whole ensemble._

 

_He knew who it would be; he didn't have to look at her face. He knew her injuries from top to bottom, knew which lung was punctured, where her bones were broken; he knew where a long, rusty piton had been shoved into her side, knew the exact trail that the knives had traced down her alabaster skin. He knew each detail, knew which nails had been pulled away from her fingers, and the placement of each individual bruise, though there were so many that she seemed to be peppered by them._

 

_And because he knew this, Elliott knew that he could not heal even two of the mortal wounds she had suffered, let alone all seventeen of them. He would be out after the first one, or perhaps dead, should he try to heal the worst. He knew she was lost, and so he allowed himself to look at her face. His sister, mouth full of blood and broken teeth, still looked up at him, the pain evident in her glazed eyes._

 

_A moan escaped from his throat, and grew to a scream of anger. She was all he had. He lay his forehead against hers, and she coughed, more blood bubbling out of the open wound that was her mouth. Some of it splattered across his face, into his hair, but he didn't notice. He tried, he tried to heal her, pressing as much energy as he could to the wounds, but it was no use; her body would not take it. A hand touched his face, and he took it, held it, because he knew it was all he could do for her. She shuddered one last time, the fluid in her lungs gurgling as she tried to draw breath, then lay still, her pale grey eyes staring sightlessly into his own._

 

_He knew, because of the thousands of times he'd had this dream, that she was dead._

* * *

 

Elliot woke, gasping for breath and shuddering back sobs, reaching for someone he'd never see again. 


End file.
